ued, "What I mean to say is this--if Margaret is never found,
you wish the house to be Mr. Carrollton's?"

"Yes, everything, my wardrobe and all," came from beneath the
bedclothes; and George proceeded: "Mr. Carrollton cannot of course
take the house to England, and, as he will need a trusty tenant, would
you object greatly if my father and mother should come here to live?
They'd like it, I--"

The sentence was unfinished--the bunches in the throat which for hours
had prevented the sick woman from speaking aloud, and were eventually
to choke her to death, disappeared; Madam Conway found her voice, and,
starting up, screamed out, "That abominable woman and heathenish girl
in this house, in my house; I'll live forever, first!" and her angry
eyes flashed forth their indignation.

"I thought the mention of mother would revive her," said George,
aside, to Theo, who, convulsed with laughter, had hidden herself
behind the window curtain.

Mr. Douglas was right, for not again that afternoon did Madam Conway
speak of dying, though she kept her bed until nightfall, when art
incident occurred which brought her at once to her feet, making her
forget that she had ever been otherwise than well.

In her cottage by the mine old Hagar had raved and sung and wept,
talking much of Margaret, but never telling whither she had gone.
Latterly, however, she had grown more calm, talking far less than
heretofore, and sleeping a great portion of the day, so that the
servant who attended her became neglectful, leaving her many hours
alone, while she, at the stone house, passed her time more agreeably
than at the lonesome hut. On the afternoon of which we write she was
as usual at the house, and though the sun went down she did not hasten
back, for her patient, she said, was sure to sleep, and even if she
woke she did not need much care.

Meantime old Hagar slumbered on. It was a deep, refreshing sleep, and
when at last she did awake, her reason was in a measure restored, and
she remembered everything distinctly up to the time of Margaret's last
visit, when she said she was going away. And Margaret had gone away,
she was sure of that, for she remembered Arthur Carrollton stood once
within that room, and besought of her to tell if she knew aught of
Maggie's destination. She did know, but she had not told, and perhaps
they had not found her yet. Raising herself in bed, she called aloud
to the servant, but there came no answer; and for an hour